


Five Times Yuuri Thinks Too Much, And One Time He Doesn’t

by misato



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Anxiety, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Trans Character, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 06:32:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9059776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misato/pseuds/misato
Summary: “I love you,” Yuuri says to the empty hotel room.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i just think we all need more trans yuuri in our lives

1.

_ “Find your Eros,” _ Viktor had told him.

Yuuri stares at himself in the mirror as he waits for the shower to heat up. He glares at the tell-tale twin scars that adorn his pale chest, at the soft curves of his hips and thighs. and at the space between his legs. He doesn’t see an ounce of Eros.

He’s happy with his current body, he really is. He passes quite well, but everyone knows about his past. He started hormone therapy as a late teenager and got top surgery shortly after; his coach had refused to let him do any sort of rigorous skating with a binder on. 

He remembers trying to hide his chest the best he could in the upcoming months before his surgery; he recalls nights on the ice where he panicked and fell because his chest stuck out too much on a certain jump. Sports bras and baggy clothing can’t hide you forever.

He ignores the things people call him. There’s a word for him in every language. He tears up the headlines and turns off the television and focuses instead on the ice.

He  _ wishes  _ he could be proud.

But he’s not.

He steps into the shower, the water practically scalding his skin, and washes his hair with shampoo that smells like musk and spice and all sorts of other masculine scents.

He knows Viktor doesn’t care about the gender of a soap bottle, because he smells like roses and peaches and vanilla, but Yuuri feels like he’s got to overcompensate.

When he’s done washing up, he wraps a towel around his waist and stares at the mirror once more. It’s fogged with steam. He decides it’s for the better.

 

2.

Yuuri’s Eros is a pork cutlet bowl. At least, that’s what he tells people. It makes him feel stupid and fat in front of Viktor, who’s always had a slim build and a willowy frame. He’s always gained weight easily, but he’s never really cared until now.

He’s in his room, trying to sleep.

He’s gotten used to sleeping shirtless, although he doesn’t like for people to see the scars from his top surgery. A lot of trans guys get tattoos around the scars, or post countless pictures online, but that’s never really been his style. 

He wonders what Viktor would think of them.

He shivers beneath the covers.

What would Viktor think of him, naked?

He imagines it and feels intensely embarrassed at even the thought of those piercing blue eyes gazing at his chest, his stomach, his thighs, his crotch.

His  _ crotch _ .

Viktor’s probably never fucked a trans person before, and he doubts the other man wants to try. He’s merely a porn category to most of the world, a shameful fetish, a dehumanized sex toy. Maybe Viktor’s jacked off to a trans person, but he’s probably never thought of kissing one softly; he’s never fallen for one, he’s never loved one. Yuuri wonders if  _ anyone  _ ever will love him.

He finds that he can’t fall asleep.

 

3.

“Good night, Yuuri,” Viktor tells him with a small smile, and Yuuri nods slowly before shutting the door.

They have separate hotel rooms. Yuuri can’t help but wonder if it’s because of what he’s got between his legs.

But Viktor’s actually never, ever brought up the fact that he’s transgender. 

He hasn’t mentioned it even once.

If it wasn’t so widely discussed by the press, Yuuri might have even thought that Viktor hadn’t known.

But he does.

He has to.

He’s seen the shit they’ve said about Viktor, calling him disgusting and vile for even daring to coach a transgender athlete. 

“Nikiforov! What is it like coaching a tranny?” one reporter had yelled into Viktor’s face, when he thought Yuuri wasn’t watching, and Yuuri had seen his fist clench, had watched the fury spark in his eyes.

He has some support, though. His fans wave little flags with pink and white and blue stripes (fuck, Yuuri didn’t even know he had a flag until just recently), and post inspirational LGBT quotes all over Instagram . ‘ _ #StandWithYuuri _ ,’ read one hashtag that quickly blew up on Twitter.

But Viktor has yet to comment on that either.

It’s not like he has to.

Maybe he senses that Yuuri doesn’t want the attention surrounding his gender issues, maybe he’s trying to be considerate.

It’d be nice to know that Viktor cares, is all.

In more ways than one.

The main thing that’s keeping Yuuri up at night is the way Viktor’s mouth moves against his ear, telling him instructions and little secrets and words of praise; it’s the feeling of those strong arms around his waist; it’s every movement the man makes, every toss of his hair and every quirk of his lips.

“I love you,” Yuuri says to the empty hotel room.

 

4.

Yuuri wakes up from a nightmare in a cold sweat, his heart pounding so fast that he can’t breathe.

His chest is tight and his legs wobble when he goes to pour himself a glass of water from the hotel sink.

Once he’s calmed down a bit, he tries to remember what scared him so badly.

_ Yuuri had rushed into the men’s bathroom immediately after that dreadful competition; he hadn’t even thought about the label on the door before rushing into a stall and breaking down into a fit of tears.  _

_ He heard the bathroom door swing open, and he peered through the crack in the stall door, only to see Viktor Nikiforov. He choked on a sob and pushed back his tears. _

_ Viktor could fix this. _

_ Viktor loved him. _

_ He opened the door and Viktor spun around in surprise. _

_ “Viktor,” Yuuri cried. “Please help me.” _

_ But Viktor’s eyes weren’t his own. They were cold and blank, a soulless blue that refused to sparkle. _

_ “What is a girl doing in the men’s bathroom?” he drawled in a flat, robotic voice. _

_ “What?” _

_ And then Yuuri stared down at himself. He was wearing a schoolgirl’s uniform, the one he dreaded wearing in middle school. _

_ His dark hair fell down to his waist. _

_ “Viktor,” he sobbed. _

_ A pale fist punched him hard in the face, over and over again. _

“Viktor,” Yuuri whispers, to no one in particular.

 

5.

He laces up his shoes and slips into the hallway of the hotel.

He knocks once, twice on Viktor’s door.

A few moments later, a sleepy, mostly naked Viktor opens the door, yawning dramatically.

“Yuuri,” he whines. “What do you wa-” He stops short at the expression on Yuuri’s face. “Oh, shit. Have you been crying?”

Has he? He touches his cheek, and it’s wet.

“I…” It sounds stupid to say it out loud. “I had a nightmare.”

“Come in,” Viktor says, and Yuuri awkwardly steps into the hotel room, which smells incredibly good for no reason at all, like flowers and fresh fruit and something sweet.

It smells like Viktor.

When the door closes behind them, a thousand thoughts start running through Yuuri’s mind, and the memory of that pale fist hard against his cheek shakes him to his core. He’s crying  _ again  _ without even meaning to; he barely even registers the feeling of Viktor’s arms wrapped around him. And then one hand is rubbing his back, and it feels so nice, and the other hand is brushing away his tears.

He trembles under Viktor’s touch; shakes violently as soft lips brush his forehead.

“What can I do to help?” Viktor murmurs, his voice warm and hoarse from sleep. “I was never good at this sort of thing.”

“I need to know,” Yuuri says, and his voice is soft and small. 

Viktor waits for him to finish.

“Do you hate me?”

He says it all in one quick breath, as if he can’t bear to let the words linger on his tongue.

“Oh, Yuuri,” and then there are lips on his cheeks, and his nose and his temple, and finally (oh, finally) his mouth. “Why on earth would I hate you?”

“I ruined your reputation.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean! No one wants to coach a transgender athlete!”

The words hang in the air.

Viktor’s hands slip from around his waist, and the man walks towards the wide, glassy window, staring over the cityscape.

“Yuuri,” he says slowly, and his voice is taut, like he’s holding something back. “Do you really think I give a fuck about what people say about me?”

Yuuri holds his breath without meaning to. Viktor continues:

“Do you know how much it hurts me to see those reporters calling you horrible names and making up rumors and treating you like shit? And you thought to put my feelings over your own? You think I’m the one being affected?”

“Aren’t you?”

Viktor stops.

“Yes,” he says. “You affected me more than anyone I’ve ever met. Because, Yuuri-”

And now Viktor is crying too.

“Yuuri, I’m in love with you.”

 

+1.

They close the space between them in seconds; it’s only a matter of mouth against mouth, tongue against tongue. Yuuri’s mind goes blank for a minute; Viktor’s lips feel so damn  _ nice _ , and when he bites down like that, it feels  _ amazing _ .

“Viktor, Viktor, Viktor,” he’s mumbling, repeating his name like a spell, and then they’re making out on the bed.

The sheets are rumpled, and they smell like Viktor, and Yuuri swears that this is the best thing to ever happen to him.

“Yuuri, I want to make you feel good,” Viktor says, his eyes dusky and his mouth oh-so-wicked.

“Okay,” Yuuri says without thinking, because he’s wanted this all his life, and there’s no way he’s going to fuck this up now.

He lets Viktor take off his shirt. That’s a start.

“Can I…” Viktor gestures towards his chest.

“I don’t have a whole lot of sensation there, actually.”

Viktor nods, running his fingers over the scars that lie there and trailing them over his stomach under he reaches the waistband of his sweatpants.

“Is this okay, too?”

“Please,” is Yuuri’s only response, and then his pants and boxers are gone, and he’s spreading his legs in a way that can only be described as shameless.

Yuuri’s hard; his clit is full and erect between his legs.

Viktor’s hands run over his inner thighs and Yuuri gasps.

“I need you.”

“Show me how,” he says, and Yuuri’s heart swells with joy.

“Use your mouth,” Yuuri begs, and although he’s never done this before, he’s certain that Viktor will make him feel good.

Viktor licks wetly and sucks gently until Yuuri moans, a broken sound that’s much too loud.

He swirls his tongue like he’s been doing this for years, and Yuuri is so, so glad that he knocked on Viktor’s door.

He’s comes softly, and Viktor works him through it until Yuuri is panting and gasping on the bed.

“Did you come?” he murmurs, and Viktor nods; his boxers are damp and Yuuri blushes.

They stay there for a while; they kiss a little bit and talk some, but Yuuri’s so exhausted that he can barely hold a conversation. Viktor whispers sweet things into Yuuri’s ear until he falls asleep.


End file.
